The Loyal Alchemist
by Othalla
Summary: It's not Roy who walks into Risembool after they play God. AU.
1. Chapter 1: Roy

**Chapter 1: Roy**

Roy went to sleep one night with the world making perfect sense, and woke up the next day to the Führer placing his hands softly, proprietarily, on the shoulders of a young boy with long blond hair and dead gold eyes. The boy looked barely into his teens and the Führer towered where he stood behind him, shadowing him from the light streaming in from the big glass windows. The boy was dressed in simple clothes; the Führer in full regalia.

"This is Edward Elric," the Führer said. He sounded all too pleased with himself and the words settled like a rock in Roy's stomach. "He'll be our youngest State Alchemist come this evening."

Roy didn't startle at the words coming out of the Führer's mouth – there was only one thing that the Führer could want with such a young child with such dead eyes, after all – but a few of the others shifted uncomfortably, while some others leaned in, creeping closer, all too interested. The Führer was stating claim, that much was clear. Why, however, was the question. What did he stand to gain from it?

What was special about this boy?

"He is very young," Brigadier General Grand said, stating the obvious and still putting so much weight behind the words, just as much as was permissible given the circumstances. Roy was impressed despite himself. He was not Basque Grand's greatest admirer, they disagreed on much when it came both to theory and practical usage of their craft, but the man had balls to match the size of the rest of him to disparage the Führer as he just did.

The Führer just kept on smiling, not seemingly bothered at all. Roy did not like it.

"Maybe so, but Edward here," the Führer said and squeezed Edward's shoulders hard enough that he twitched and lost some of the deadness in his eyes, "has accomplished more in his eleven years than most alchemists do in their entire lives. I expect him to excel in today's tests, not simply succeed, if what I've seen of his circles so far has any bearing. They are such marvelous things, after all. Pure genius."

Edward seemed to collapse in on himself at the Führer's words and it was all too easy to see the self-loathing, the grief and the shame take hold of him. Roy very much did not want to know just what it was the boy had done, not given the effect it had on him and the smugness of the Führer. There were so many horrendous things one could do with alchemy. Imagining them done by a boy… Still, he'd have to find out, because rather an obstacle Roy knew than one he didn't.

He'd tell Maes to dig, but first, he'd have to find out where to point him.

"Where did you find him?" Roy asked. They all knew genius alchemists did not just grow on trees, and given that he was an accomplished alchemist himself, the brass would probably not think his question strange. Just curious about his competition, a little bit jealous perhaps given the Führer's partialness. Roy was just another dog looking to bite his littermate to get ahead.

"Risembool. So I guess we could say that I found him in your backyard, hmm? I must say, Mustang, I'm a bit surprised that you didn't find him first. He was practically screaming to get away, after all."

Roy's smile froze on his face even as Edward seemed to fold in on himself even further. Roy wanted, suddenly and with a fervor that surprised him, to rush forward and pull the boy away from the Führer and the future he was placing on him. Roy did not want to see any alchemist used as a pawn of war, to turn what was supposed to be a gift and a blessing into something cursed and vile, and it appeared that was just amplified when the alchemist was only a child. Roy knew what it was to be broken in such a way, to come to hate yourself, and even though it looked like Edward had broken himself well enough on his own he did not wish to see the wound forcibly pulled apart and made fester until it would swallow him whole. He did not wish to see his own nightmares reflect in Edward's eyes.

Roy forced the stiffness away from his body, cleared his thoughts and let the smile go. There was nothing he could do for Edward, not when the Führer had claimed him so properly, and there was no use in imagining what ifs or maybes. Roy would simply have to see in a few hours, after the written exam was completed and it was time for the practical, what the boy could be capable of. If there was anything he could use in him, and if not, how he could take him down before he'd be a problem.

Roy was a very practical man – he knew how to use people.

The problem was the Führer knew too, and he had far less scruples about it.

* * *

Roy stood next to Grand during the practical, had positioned himself there on purpose to see if the Brigadier General would make any other comments like the one from Führer's office. It was not often that he had much chance to interact with his senior, even as they were both alchemists of great renown, and he could not pass the chance up. If he'd be amenable, Grand would make an invaluable ally. But it would be a great risk to ever approach him and Roy had to take every measure available not to paint a target on himself. If word got out that Roy was just a bit more cutthroat in his ambitions, he'd be disappeared quickly.

Roy was not planning on going away any time soon and so he chose his steps carefully.

Edward, on the other hand, looked like he couldn't care less when he practically stomped into the arena. The fear and the weakened spine from earlier seemed to have disappeared and left nothing but fury in their wake. The boy was like fire, wild and golden, and Roy couldn't help but approve.

Edward had not broken yet. He was fighting tooth and nail, challenging everyone and everything all at once.

Grand chuckled softly beside him, surprised and pleased all at once. "So he has some life in him. Good."

Roy smiled. "More than some, I'd say. A spitfire, by the looks of him."

Grand looked at him shrewdly and did not reply. No matter, Edward was about to begin anyway.

"Do you need to borrow some tools?" the proctor asked.

Edward shook his head. He stood right in the center of the room and had to bend his head quite a bit to look up on the viewing deck. He was staring, almost daringly, at the Führer. "No," he said and smiled with all his teeth showing. "I don't need any fucking tools."

He clapped his hands and Roy spent one long moment stupefied as he watched Edward bend his knees and touch the floor with his hands. Then the floor shone white blue and Roy stopped thinking at all, staring with wide eyes as Edward drew out a spear twice as long as he was tall. The edge of the blade glinted in the ceiling lights and Roy could feel its sharpness from all the way across the room. The body of it had what looked like circles etched upon it, all of them looking as vicious and unpredictable as the boy himself, ready to cut through the very fabric of the world.

Roy could not believe what he had just seen. He looked at Edwards hands for any marks but could find none. True, there might still be some beneath his gloves, maybe tattoos or just ordinary scribbles in removable ink, but Roy doubted it. He was very certain, all of a sudden, that he had just witnessed circle less alchemy. Alchemy that should be impossible.

Grand let out a soft curse beside him and Roy couldn't help but agree.

Then his eyes focused on Edward once more because Edward was no longer standing still, no, he was running. Right toward the Führer at a surprisingly quick speed, his spear held high and that grin growing impossibly wider on his face. Out for blood.

The Führer looked placidly on, even as his guards started to panic, and as Edward reached him Roy spent just a second wondering if this was it, if Bradley was dead, if Edward would kill him.

But Edward stopped. The spear a bare inch from the Führer's throat. Almost like a promise, it was completely still, all restrained fury.

Roy could not see Edward's face from where he stood but he didn't doubt that the smile was still there.

Perhaps Edward was not so much a spitfire as he was a mad dog, shackled and restrained just like the rest of them. The very epitome of what a State Alchemist was said to be.

The Führer clapped. Smiling pleasantly like the boy he was sponsoring did not hold a spear to him and Roy was reminded yet again of just what kind of man King Bradley was.

"A good show, my boy," the Führer said and the whole arena relaxed as one. "A very good show. You'll make a fine State Alchemist."

Edward said something but it was far too softly for Roy to hear, curious as though he was. Especially when the Führer laughed.

It was not a nice laugh.

Edward took that as a dismissal and jumped down, carelessly fusing the spear with the floor in a remarkable display of skill as he headed for the exit. His shoulders were tight, and the fight that had lived in him seemed to die a bit more with each step.

"The Loyal Alchemist," the Führer said just loud enough for Edward to hear. It was the last nail in Edward's coffin. The boy was once again defeated, broken. "I think I like the sound of that."

When Roy walked to his hotel that night he knew exactly why the Führer had called them all in this morning and the knowledge did not make for easy sleeping.

The Führer had a personal attack dog who could do alchemy without circles. A _child_ capable of horrible things whom the Führer had something on, something big enough that he could control him even though the kid loathed him, and he would not hesitate to use him. A prepubescent boy who was already terrifying.

 _Imagine what he can do in a few years_ , was the threat held above their shoulders. A cease and desist order for anyone thinking to undermine him, inviting them to find out how they would suffer should they step out of line.

They would have to be very careful, now.

* * *

The next morning word got out that Basque Grand was removed from his managing position of the Central Laboratories and Edward Elric, the Loyal Alchemist, had taken his place.

Roy, on his train back East, put his head in his hands and prayed.


	2. Chapter 2: Pinako

**Chapter 2: Pinako**

A leg and an arm.

Upstairs, the rambunctious boy she had raised was nowhere to be found. A hollow shell of a person, Edward had broken himself in too many ways. He had wielded an icepick to his own mind from his grief and guilt, and Pinako could do nothing to sooth those hurts or make them go away. They kept bleeding through the bandages, a red river that flooded their home and heart. She could feed him, she could hug him and talk him to sleep, but she couldn't make it undone like she so dearly wished to. There was no going back from this for anyone of them.

She had dug a grave and then she had filled it. Too little, too late. Pinako wasn't a doctor like her children had been, she couldn't fix dead people.

The leg and the arm, though, she could fix, and so fix them she would.

When the kids were asleep and all the horrors of the day were out of her house, she went into her workshop and started to cut out building blocks. Plating over the back of the palm, pumps for the muscles, joints for the fingers; she picked out the smallest size she had and made them smaller. One piece at a time an arm was born. Bare boned and not really good enough for anything; it would fall apart from a soft breeze. But this was just a prototype, a rough draft for the finished product, the best one she would ever make, because fuck everything if Pinako wasn't going to make her oldest grandson's arm perfect.

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to stop and breathe, easing up the tight hold she had on the screwdriver one finger at a time before she let it drop onto the worktable with a bump. She braced herself with her hands on the old wood, feeling each nick and grove in the grain. Here, she had created miracles. Now she was creating a new one, and letting the anger get the best of her would not help. She needed to calm down.

She allowed herself a few long moments to just breathe. Then she picked up the screwdriver and got back to work.

She needed to order new parts from Rush Valley. Lightweight alloys, wires and pumps, she didn't have enough of them in stock. The war was over and the steady influx of people standing on her doorstep with money in their pockets had died with it; there hadn't been a need for more, before. Now, she might have to get the raw materials and build what she needed herself, the stuff her supplier kept in stock was made for adults and was too heavy and required musculature to operate that Edward just didn't have. The port alone would be heavy enough.

They would have to attach it tomorrow. The wound was fresh, raw and pulsing, and waiting would only mean letting it scab over and then rip it open all over again. Pinako might have been able to do that, but Edward didn't let that be an option and so tomorrow it was.

Pinako hissed through her teeth when she remembered. _Them_. They'd have to attach _them_ tomorrow. He had lost the leg too. He needed two ports, not one.

She bent down and drew forth the boxes hidden beneath her desk where she stored most of the on-skin parts. She wasn't even certain she had two ports in at the moment. Even if she did they wouldn't fit. She'd have to shave some of the sides off and rewire the nerve attachments, maybe even change out the plating to make it fit Edward. She dug her hands inside, the skin of her hands splitting apart on sharp edges, trying to find what she was looking for among all the junk she'd collected. Then she let out a great heave of relief.

There were three ports. Two for the shoulder and one for the thigh. She had enough.

Pulling them up onto the table one by one, she turned them around slowly as she examined them. The first of the ports was made of a steel and iron mix. In a pinch it would probably do but she was worried what that kind of weight would do to the socket. The second one was better. Aluminum alloy. She'd have to make some adjustments, Edward had lost more of his shoulder than this one had covering for, but it was a good size. Under the circumstances, it was acceptable.

Pinako rested her forehead on her palm, pressing against her temple in a vain attempt to sooth her headache.

They might have to think about hindering his growth hormones.

Edward's short and slim at the moment but Hohenheim was not only tall but also wide across his shoulders. If Ed would grow like his father had, the ports would deform him irreparably. He'd be crippled.

She turned it over again, eyeing the circumference. Maybe she could add an inner ring, making it tight enough to fit Edward's body for now, but allowed it to be removed later on. It would be clunky, definitely too big on the shoulders of a boy, and it would hurt him. He'd have back pains all his life. It'd get the job done, though. The skin would grow over it and Pinako would have to be the one to cut him open again when the port got too small, but his arm would work.

Edward needed an arm that worked. Pinako would have to live the pain of mutilating him.

She'd never resented Hohenheim before. She'd understood. She'd listened to him in the weeks before he had walked out that door, had listed to him explaining himself and making excuses for himself and she hadn't stopped him. It hadn't been her business, she'd thought. His reasons might not have been perfect, nothing could make abandoning your wife and children that, but he was her friend and she'd thought them good enough. She found that she couldn't any longer.

If he'd been here none of this would have happened. Her grandsons wouldn't have-

She cut off that thought by slamming her fist against the wall. It hurt. Of course it hurt. Blood ran in a warm trickle in the valley between her knuckles. She imagined that it had been his face and she didn't care.

"I hope you found what you wanted."

She went over to her medicine drawer and pulled out some sterile wipes and bandages, methodically cleaning out her bruises and tying them up. She formed a fist and then stretched her fingers wide. There might be some stiffness tomorrow when the scab had set in but there was nothing wrong with her mobility.

Satisfied she put everything back in their place and returned to her work table. She picked up the screwdriver and tightened the main screw holding the joint of the elbow in place and grabbed the arm by the wrist and pulled it back and forth before letting it go. She'd have to oil it later; it was too dry and didn't move smoothly.

"God knows you broke this family for it."


End file.
